


Witness

by mirwalker



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2015-05-12
Packaged: 2018-03-30 04:07:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3922291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirwalker/pseuds/mirwalker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An accident leads to the discovery of the true cost Camelot paid for its crown prince; and the debt Merlin must pay on his behalf.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The two pails of scalding hot water seemed to grow heavier, rather than cooler, on Merlin's long, lonely trek up from the castle kitchens. One bucket was to renew the aromatics Gaius had ordered kept at the prince's side, to soothe and revive him; another to re-apply warm compresses to the bruises along his side, back and head. Then, he had to replace the coals in the bedwarmer, and the sweat-stained pillowcases, if not the pillows themselves. And he'd still not had a chance to get to Arthur's bloodied clothes, only removed and cast aside when he'd first been brought up from the field. The constant, if understandable, bedside presence of the king and Lady Morgana had only made juggling these demands that much harder.

Beyond wanting his master well as its own good end, Merlin wanted Arthur better for the sheer extra work the injured prince created for his faithful manservant. To both ends, as he finally reached the top step, he hoped Gaius had succeeded in convincing the royal family to take a break from their vigil, to get some rest of their own, and in rousing some sign of fight from the unconscious prince.

Reaching Arthur's door, he set down the leaden pails, to open the door quietly and without again spilling his hard-slogged cargo. Pausing briefly to rest his arms for the last distance, he heard a thin, muffled tune within the room. Too low in pitch to be the Lady or her handmaiden, the voice was too tuned to be the gruff sovereign; and Gaius was simply not the singing type. Merlin realized he'd paused in mid-action, frozen both by his own curiosity and the soft, calming sounds of the mystery singer.

Not wanting his delivery to cool and need repeating, and wanting to learn who'd joined the prince's care, Merlin carefully lifted the latch on the heavy door and pushed, intending to lead his entrance with an eye out for the soloist. But no sooner had the first creak of moving timber sounded, than the song stopped; and Merlin stepped into the chamber to find himself alone with the still sleeping prince.

Fairly certain he'd not imagined the song, he glanced around with narrowed eyes, not appreciating any prank or mischief at his, or Arthur's, expense. But, no person was visible in any space across the room; no movement in any corner to suggest someone had just slipped away; and no sound beyond the slow slosh in his buckets. No indication that there'd been any song or source beyond his own, admittedly, weary head.

"Merlin," chided Gaius behind him in the hallway, "Don't just stand there like a lump! Your water is cooling, but your heels needn't do the same!"

Startled from his reflection, Merlin stepped aside, with an "I'm sorry" look, as the healer pushed past him toward the bed. But it took another stern and expectant look to get a shrug and sigh from the pauper, as he dutifully delivered the water to where Gaius was checking the royal patient.

Gaius nodded in acknowledgement of the pails, and explained, "I've asked Gwen to stay with Morgana; and just gave the king a draught to help him rest. That should give me a little time to change these bandages, and you time to catch up on your long list of chores. Still, do be quick…" Not looking particularly pleased with what he noticed under the fabric draped on Arthur's forehead, he rummaged in his satchel.

"How is he?" Merlin asked, as he set about his own next task.

"No better," the court physician sighed. "If it has just been the fall from the horse, even onto the joust railings, he'd be sore, and scratched, and perhaps have a broken rib. Even the bruising where the burst lance lodged in his breastplate is not too severe. But the blow to his head when he was pulled back into the railing… I understand a knight, and especially a prince, must train hard; but these are still just boys…"

"If I'd been there, been paying attention, I could have done something: moved him, turned the rail to cloth, or something."

"You couldn't have known, Merlin; and you can't be there every time. Such are the perils of knight life, and of serving nobles."

"But magic," Merlin continued in a whisper.

But his mentor wouldn't hear more self-doubt and –crimination. "Not all bad things are magic, just as not all magic is bad. Accidents _do_ happen," he reminded with stern and caring force.

Little assured by the truth in Gaius' advice, Merlin carefully slid the warming pan under the thick linens, careful not to place it too close. "Are you going to sing to him?" he asked sheepishly, not believing it likely, but needing to rule out even this improbable culprit.

"Sing? Sing! Arthur needs to rest and heal, not be subjected to shrieks and gasps. So no, I won't be singing to him." He looked up to Merlin with a suspicious glare, "And don't you try to either. 'Sing'…" he harrumphed dismissively. "I'm going to get a different fragrance for the bowl, and a stronger salve for the cut on his head. The variation alone might help to stimulate him."

Wiping his hands, Gaius shuffled out, throwing a final instruction over his shoulder, "Open the curtains as well, Merlin; a little sunlight might do us all some good."

The young wizard sighed toward the closing door, realizing that he was now alone, was deeply guilty at having allowed his friend and master to come to this situation, and was still far from making progress on his chore list. Frustrated by that collection of woes, he stalked over to the pile of tournament garb near the door, and grumbled a spell to shed some light on the space: "Onhlídath nihthelmas!"(1)

Having chosen his words a little too broadly, and perhaps imbued the magic with too much strong emotion in his tired haste, every pair of curtains around the room whipped open at once; and the prince's sheets flew to the foot of the bed. With a guilty grimace, Merlin carefully pulled the covers back over Arthur, and returned to his laundry. Only in heading back toward the door, did he notice that his urgent cast had also exposed a large mirror behind an ornate tapestry beside the entrance—a corner of the room he'd paid little attention to in the past, and a rare mirror he'd also never noticed before.

Stepping up to the giant looking glass, as much from curiosity as intent to return its covering, Merlin was even more surprised to be greeted in it, not by his own reflection, but by the also-startled image of a grizzled, dark-eyed and cloth-shrouded young man.

"You can see me?!" they each exclaimed at the same time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Old English command: transliterated imperative plural of _onhlídan_ (to open, reveal, unclose, appear) + accusative plural of _nihthelm_ (night curtains).


	2. Chapter 2

Merlin had jumped back from the mirror, again dropping the armful of stained clothes he'd been trying to gather and take to the laundry. He chided himself for that clumsiness, before reminding himself that he had good reason to be startled. _Did I really see someone else in the mirror? Who was that? Hang on… I didn't just see him; he saw me too. And spoke!_

Wondering if he really was just overworked and under-rested, Merlin slowly eased his gaze back toward the shiny surface, and initially saw nothing but Arthur's room—bright and brash, vast and vacant. _Not so unlike its occupant in better times!_ Sighing, he stood and stepped back, relieved the vision was only that. Until...

"Can you hear me as well?" asked a voice more polished than his own, ringing of the royals' accent, but without their attitude. And there, again, in the frame faced head on, was the strange man eyeing him with a similar cautious wonder.

Frozen in place this time, Merlin just stared back silently, taking in the apparent recurrence of his delusion. Not wanting to believe what he was seeing, he managed to decide that a test would help prove whether he was entirely imagining things, or just misunderstanding them through his fatigue. Slowly, he tilted his head to one side, hoping that his odd reflection would as well.

When it didn't, he tilted it back, and then raised one arm out to the side.

Again, the figure failed to follow suit.

"I asked, Can you hear me?" the figure repeated, entirely without prompt. "Are you well, Merlin?"

"Oh, fine. It's just that there's a man in the mirror, who isn't me… talking to me!" he exclaimed with am excited and nervous turn in place, before shushing himself on seeing the sleeping Arthur still across the room. "Wait, you know my name?"

"Aye," the figure said, himself looking a little surprised. "But I didn't know you could hear and see me. You can stop pinching yourself; you're not imagining me."

"What?" Merlin whipped his hands out from behind his back. "How did you…?" He looked behind to see if there were another unexpected mirror giving away his out-of-sight attempt to end the odd dream. He looked back to the bed, confirming Arthur was very much still there and very still—not directing this trick in some way. And then he finally faced the conversation partner who shouldn't be there, and so couldn't know what he'd been doing behind his back anyway.

"You can see me best in this surface—something to do with its reflective properties, we suppose. But I'm aware of everything around Arthur, not just what's visible to this mirror."

Whatever the explanation's intent, it had not unpuckered Merlin's face. In fact, he squinted further, and mustered the nerve to approach the mirror, lift an edge and look and feel behind it. "How are you doing that?" he demanded, unwilling to believe it wasn't some wind-up, either by someone else or his own exhaustion.

"Come over to the table," continued the voice, without change to its volume, tone or direction. "Turn over the platter you brought in this morning."

Growing more suspicious as the encounter continued without evidence it was actually happening, Merlin glanced quickly back to the mirror's front, hoping to catch the absence of the vision as proof against it. But the odd man was still there; and was nodding him toward the large table at the room's center.

With a sigh, Merlin backed toward it, removed the goblets from the silver tray, and slowly turned it in his hands.

"You can see me here too?" the man said, still in the mirror; and now also visible in the metal underside of the platter that Merlin had himself polished on the day before. He nearly dropped it, at the now doubled ghostly image. _I'm getting worse!_

"If you're able to see me at all, you can in almost anything that holds a reflection. But…," both versions of the man said with a single voice, "Beyond Arthur, the only other person I know to be aware of me is one who has magic... And so, yours must be great, to both see _and_ hear me."

"Well, the princely prat is certainly not magic," Merlin rolled his eyes, before catching himself for getting into Arthur's shortcomings, magical or otherwise. _Though this could be something magical,_ he thought. _That would begin to explain it…_ Merlin set the platter down, and sank into the closest chair. "If you aren't just a _very impressive_ figment of my weary imagination, why haven't I seen or heard you before? I've been in Arthur's service for more than a year!"

"I keep quiet when people are around, and except in the really shiny things, I'm hard to see. You've never paid attention before; but I've known you… I've known you to use magic, and Gaius to encourage it. You've heard the King and Arthur; would you speak up? Magic is to be feared…"

"They're wrong," insisted Merlin quickly. _If he's a figment, no harm in being honest and challenging him. If he's real and telling the truth, he already knows what I am; so no sense in pretending otherwise._

"So I've begun to wonder…," the man said, his confidence softening. "I have known you to use yours to help Arthur, usually…"

Merlin smiled nervously, wondering what subtle irritations to the prince this vision had witnessed.

"And Arthur has grown ever distant as we've aged," the man continued, a sadness seeping into his tone and eyes. "He can see, but not hear me—just the opposite of Gaius; and eventually, he tried to shut me away behind this tapestry."

"Why?"

"'You shouldn't see things that shouldn't be,' he said. His father had explained his stories of me as a childhood fancy; I suppose he couldn't be a man with that imaginary friend, especially one who couldn't disappear. We grew up, and he outgrew what play we could have, what willing ear I could give without much response."

"He's not always the best of friends, is he?" Merlin commiserated. "Did he just leave you like that?" he nodded toward the mirror, meaning his grizzled appearance.

"If I understand how you see me, this is simply how I have become. No sleep or eating; no shave or cutting of the hair; and no clothes save this single cloth I've always had. There is nothing else here; and Arthur was never able to pass anything to me, though we tried often in the early years." He smiled briefly at the memory of a repeatedly dirtied mirror, of a more generous Arthur.

Merlin's face had grown somber, scrunched this time more in growing pity than his original fear. The mix of attempted generosity and cold dismissal from the crown prince he could understand well enough; but this man… "Who are you? I mean, do you have a name, or know how you came to be as you are?

"No name; none was ever given me. Arthur called me 'Fleck' sometimes; but it's not a true name as others have. And I have always been here, with Arthur, for as long as we both have been."

There was a light knock at the door, followed by a hushed whisper, "Merlin, it's Gwen. Gaius has sent me with fresh herbs. Can I come in?"

Merlin leapt to his feet, nearly knocking over the seat, tray and cups, as if the room weren't still such a mess. "Uh, just a moment," he nearly shouted back, before catching that clamor that as well.

None of the reflections reacted, seeming to wait for how he would respond.

"I have to go," the solid servant said, approaching the mirror. "But if Gaius has heard you—knows something about you, would it be alright if talk with him, see if knows anything more about how you came to be… in Arthur's service…ware? Maybe we can help?"

"Help?" the man seemed confused, either at what was offered or why he would need it.

"To get you out of there, not trapped in the wall," the young warlock smiled with intended generosity.

"I'm not in the wall…"

"Merlin?" came a slightly louder call through the chamber door.

"By the way," an urgent Merlin cut him off, hand ready to draw the curtain, "Just to make certain: I heard singing as I approached. Was that you?"

Distracted, Fleck looked across the room to where Arthur lay, bandaged and unmoving. "It was a song the nurses sang over Arthur when he was young, and so sang to me. Despite how he's come to treat me, he is all I have known in my time. I need him well."


	3. Chapter 3

As weary legs carried him too slowly toward the overdue laundry stop, Merlin's mind raced with the past day's unexpected, and perhaps unsettling turns. From Arthur's dangerous fall and near loss of life in the joust arena, to the discovery of a previously unknown, but apparently long-term roommate. From a sleepless night supporting those who also cared for the prince, to a conversation with a man who claimed to have never slept. And now that man who shouldn't be, was singing Arthur a lullaby he couldn't hear—in fact, only Merlin, and perhaps Gaius, could.

He shared a somber glance with the scullery maid, who instantly recognized the contents of the dropped basket—both for their finery, and their stains. The whole staff looked to him for some news, or reassurance; but he could only shrug, shake his head and smile weakly, before heading out again.

Thinking back over the last year in Camelot, Merlin recalled having occasionally heard Arthur talking when the prince was ostensibly alone in his chambers. But he'd either been told it was practice for some upcoming public address, or had marked it up to Arthur's love of hearing the sound of his own voice. While he strongly believed the latter was still true, Merlin now could trust that the conversation might not have been entirely a solo affair after all.

Not long after arriving at Camelot, in fact, he recalled entering Arthur's bed chambers without knocking, arms full. "Who were you talking to?" he'd asked by way of announcing his arrival with the latest batch of laundered shirts, pressed pants and polished boots.

"I was practicing my speech for the banquet," Arthur had explained, straightening that same tapestry in the corner, before running his finger across the top of the hutch beside it, as if confirming the tidiness of his chambers. "I can tell you don't dust; do you ever knock before barging in?"

As was usual, the moment had spiraled into an exchange of insults; and he'd not thought anything more about it. Until today. And unable to ask Arthur about it directly, he went to the only other person implicated in this poorly timed, but nonetheless intriguing mystery.

"Gaius?" he called as he entered quickly.

The physician's workroom and living quarters were a particular mess: books stacked and open on every surface; bags and bottles of assorted contents scattered among them; and, off in rarely used corner, a mix of grumbling and rummaging sounds as the old man searched unsuccessfully, it seemed.

"Gaius?" Merlin called again, not having seen this level of disarray except by ill intent.

The scavenger turned to him, with a look of impatience and quick disdain, "Why aren't you with Arthur? He mustn't be left alone, in case his condition changes!"

"Gwen is sitting with him," Merlin explained calmly, but firmly. "I needed to step away and handle the laundry, grab a bite to eat, and check on you. What are _you_ doing?"

Ignoring the piles of disorganized shelf and box contents surrounding him, Gaius explained the obvious, "Searching through my most obscure recipes, for anything that might help Arthur. I am certainly not focusing on whether _I've_ eaten today."

 _Exactly_ , Merlin's look scowled at him. "He's resting as comfortably as he can; and needs us to be at our best, to care best for him." He moved toward the cook fire and larder corner, as if not willing to hear any further protest at his presence or diverted attention.

"I can look after myself quite well," Gaius protested mildly, dragging a box toward, and dropping it and himself on the bench beside, the nearest table.

As if to prove Merlin's point, the grumbling continued but more quietly, as Gaius seemed to pick through the dusty bin with less than full gusto.

Hoping the stew intended as last night's supper hadn't overcooked for sitting on the fire for nearly a day, Merlin slid a bowl and a bit of bread before his mentor, and modeled having a least a little. Pleased when Gaius sighed, dropped his shoulders, and began to pick at the simple meal, Merlin smiled and pushed to his actual agenda. "I also wanted to ask you something… Something a little peculiar; well, a lot peculiar…"

When the silent chewing and picking at the bowl wasn't punctuated with a raised eyebrow or other judgment, Merlin proceeded, "Have you ever heard anything… odd, in Arthur's chambers? Or around Arthur?"

"How do you mean 'odd'?" Gaius asked. The lack of a more animated irritation at the random question suggested he had needed this moment's rest.

"I don't know. Like strange songs or, or voices?"

That got a brief look up. "Merlin, neither of us has time or energy for riddles or other infirmities right now. It's a bad time to start hearing things or giving in to an overactive imagination…"

"I haven't imagined it," Merlin defended himself, or perhaps tried to convince himself again. "It's just… There's a… presence in Arthur's room. I'm certain."

Gaius set down his spoon, sighed, and reminded his ward, "Since long before Arthur and Uther, this castle has hosted and been visited by many peoples and things; most good. But especially given the King's persecution of magic, they have not all left, or left as friends. If you've uncovered something, Merlin, you must be very careful. If so, and whether or not it's involved in Arthur's injury, you cannot be sure of its intentions without knowing more."

"That's it?" Merlin asked, surprised at the lack of a bigger reaction.

"What were you expecting?" Gaius asked, his energy level clearly dropping for having paused his activity for the chat and snack. "You're hearing things in an old castle, when neither of us has slept for more than a day for work and worry…"

Drooping eyes confirmed for Merlin that he'd gotten all he would from Gaius at this point. And, he didn't expect sharing more details of his introduction would do more than add to the older man's burden. He could save more troubles for when he had more details to share…

"Right then," Merlin said, standing and moving around the low table. "I think we both could benefit from a little rest, and so better benefit his highness in the end..." With no further explanation, and with little resistance from his mentor, he guided Gaius to the low bed nearby and tucked him in.

"Just a few minutes rest, Merlin," Gaius instructed weakly. "I'll not have your fondness for sleep get us both in trouble."

"I'll argue that point with you after our quick nap," Merlin smiled, as the snoring began almost before the blanket had settled across the physician. _Sleep well… for the both of us, as I still need some answers._

Stifling his own yawn, he headed for his only other source of insights on magical matters in Camelot. One that seemed never to sleep.

* * *

Winding his way deep below the castle, avoiding guards and other eyes, Merlin swallowed deeply as he finally stepped out onto the small ledge in the large cavern. While "friendly" was never a word he would apply to his interactions with this unwilling Camelot resident, their exchanges had been extra rocky of late, since Merlin had rashly told off the subterranean advisor, only to seek him out again when his next great need arose—as they often seemed to. He hoped that the giant lizard continued to be forgiving, not that one wanted ever wished for especially "warm" relations with a dragon…

Looking around the dim space, he breathed in to call out, when a husky voice interrupted him. "And yet again, the great Emrys comes to me for counsel; but will you listen this time, young warlock? Or will you yet again waste my breath?" Fiery eyes opened slowly, as a great form uncoiled from a nearby outcropping.

"I always listen, when what you tell is true," Merlin shot back defensively, if nervously.

"Ha!" scoffed the dragon, "Well I have lived a long time now, to take such lip from one with so little hair on his… Hear this, little magician, I _always_ speak the truth. Having the truth is rarely man's problem; rather, it is whether he believes it and how he uses it."

Little prepared to, or interested in debating philosophy, Merlin spoke to a tangible issue he knew to be of interest to the ancient thinker. "Arthur is injured, perhaps gravely so in what seemed an accident in the tournament. And on nearly the same day, I've suddenly encountered an… apparition in his room, who claims to have always been with him. The reflected man doesn't seem ill-intended, but…"

"Ah, so you've met the scéawere æðeling,"(1) the dragon nodded, seemingly unsurprised.

"The what?" Merlin asked, slightly disappointed he hadn't managed to know more than a creature locked underground for years, but relieved that forced recluse might have answers nonetheless.

"He too is _bunden_ ,"(2) Kilgarragh continued his lecture, "a being or spirit who is 'bound.' Shut away in the shadows for the inconvenience of his truth. Until he is needed…," the dragon slowed as he spoke, perhaps waiting for Merlin to make sense of deeper meanings.

"Is that how you feel?" Merlin acknowledged catching the double reference.

"It is simply the truth; is it not?"

"If I'm to save Arthur, as you insist is so critical, then I need to better understand this 'Fleck' person. Perhaps that will help me better understand, and help, you?"

"Sweet of tongue and slow to act on offers—such qualities simply make you …tasty," suggested the unblinking stare.

Swallowing even more uncomfortably, Merlin tried to return their focus to his mystery, not his flavor. "You're avoiding my question. Who is this fellow? Why is he 'bound' to Arthur? And why am I only the one who can see and hear someone so closely connected to Arthur?"

"That is multiple questions."

Merlin grunted in frustration, before recomposing his expression and question. "You called him Bunden; is that also his name?

"He has no name; 'bound' is his fate."

 _And…?_ Merlin leaned in, eyes and mouth wide, expectantly…

"Must everything be spelled out for you? Powerful, you are; but worryingly dim," the dragon looked up in exasperation, before turning back. "Think, Merlin! You have all the pieces, not of this specific circumstance perhaps; but you understand how Magic works in its most fundamental, constant ways…"

"But he isn't a magical being himself, at least not that he knows or shows…"

The Dragon sighed, resigned to pulling this lesson from his student slowly. "If he is not magic himself…"

"He's been acted upon _by_ magic?"

"Which makes him…?"

"Possessed? No, he's not alive to be taken over. Conjured? No, he doesn't seem summoned from anywhere or for any purpose." He knocked his fist against his forehead as the Dragon smirked. "Oh, a spirit? A ghost!"

"Good. And such spirits are…?"

"Ghosts are often troubled souls, unable to find peace after an unjust death.(3) But this one doesn't seem vengeful or angry, just resigned, as if he knows no other life."

"And who can die before they've lived?"

Merlin slapped his hands on his legs. "Always your riddles! I don't know- You can't die if you're not alive to begin with; but how can you be alive without living? Who doesn't have a life?" He spun in place, muttering "childish games," before jumping and grinning, "That's it: babies!"

Finally, a perhaps proud nod from the teacher. "So, you have a baby who died before he could live. What else do you know of death and life in the world?"

"The balance demanded by the Old Magic! Outside the natural cycles, it costs a life to offset a death. Are you saying that this baby died so that someone else could live? Who?"

"Not just _anyone_ , Merlin. Someone he would be bound to, in whose fate and affairs he would be 'wrapped up'…"

"Bound to? Wrapped up in? But this man claimed to always be where Arthur was… Arthur!" Merlin's head swam, trying to make sense of the unfolding story. "But Nimueh said it was Queen Ygraine whose life was taken for Arthur…"(4)

"And when have we ever agreed that Arthur's is an ordinary life…?"

Blank stare, or perhaps, overwhelmed.

"The firstborn of Uther Pendragon is both a son and a prince. And, as royalty can be quick to remind us, they are more valuable than common folk. Especially so the Once and Future King…"

"And so the price for Arthur's life was actually higher?" Merlin dropped to his knees as the understanding overtook him. "It cost both a royal death, _and_ that of another."

"Another first-born son… Do you still doubt the importance of Arthur's life and destiny, you who holds its key?"

Merlin looked up aghast, "Some other family lost their child, so that Uther could have his? How is that fair or just?"

"Little this king has ever done was motivated by fairness or justice for any beyond himself. Surely you have seen that for yourself?" The great lizard rattled his own chains as evidence of the Pendragon generosity.

Merlin couldn't argue that point. But he didn't have to accept it. "So what can we do?"

"We?!" The cave resounded with laughter. "As promised, I have spoken the truth when asked. Whether you believe and what you do with it, is a concern for _your_ power and wisdom."

Merlin opened his mouth to argue, but the dragon's look at his own bonds made it clear that he would offer no more unless Merlin was willing to return the favor.

Eyes closing as he curled himself back onto his perch, the old serpent hissed, "The Old Ways are absolute, not to be undone. Both were born; one becomes the great man, the other bears silent witness. Such roles in history as would make any parent proud…"

The audience thus ended, Merlin sat a moment as the darkness seemed to close, not lift, as he adjusted to it. Resigned, he trod back up to his own life, with much more information for his pilgrimage, but still feeling none the wiser for what next to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Old English for "mirror prince."  
> 2\. A literal translation from the Old English, which I've applied here as if an Old Magic term for those in that lasting predicament.  
> 3\. As in the various apparitions who will appear to Uther ( _The Tears of Uther Pendragon 1 & 2_, 3.1 & .2), and to Sir Elyan ( _A Herald of the New Age_ (4.10)  
> 4\. Nimeuh revealed this transaction, and in fact the law of balance, when Merlin came again to barter for Arthur's life in _Le Morte d'Arthur_ (1.13).


	4. Chapter 4

"Gwen woke me when Lady Morgana relieved her at Arthur's side, no thanks to you," Gaius volunteered crossly as Merlin tried to slip quietly back into their quarters. "Where _have_ you been? Slunk off for your nap in some hidden corner?"

"No. I-" the wrongly accused began.

"You can make up your story on your own time later; but you'll make it up to me now," he was cut off. "I need your help now to apply this salve and fresh dressings to Arthur's wounds. But first, you need to stop by the kitchens and bring a slightly warm broth so we can get some nourishment into him."

The renewed vigor from his mentor returned some hope and happiness to Merlin, even if this wasn't how he'd planned to engage once Gaius woke.

"Well?"

"Well… I actually had a question-"

"Earn your answers with some work. You'd best be at Arthur's side with that broth when I arrive."

* * *

Apparently the only person not to have slept recently, Merlin was soon sprinting in the opposite direction, as Gaius donned his brimming bag, and headed up to the royal chambers.

His quick and careful roundtrip with a small pot of broth was nonetheless slight faster than the older man's one-way climb; and Merlin caught up to him in the hallway outside Arthur's room. "Gaius!"

"Shhh!" he was chided by the startled physician.

"I thought we wanted him to wake?" the young man reminded with a winning grin.

The raised eyebrow conceded no point; but the lack of response did.

"Before we go in, I've earned an answer," Merlin persisted. Taking the sigh as his brief opportunity, he jumped to his point ahead of any further interruption, "The voice in Arthur's room, you've heard it too, haven't you? In Arthur's room? Around him at other times? You've heard things not even Arthur himself could?"

Gaius looked irritated, and a little confused by the return of this subject; but again, he didn't deny the charge.

Merlin pressed on. "The night Arthur was born, and Queen Ygraine died, were there any other deaths that day in Camelot? Any… children?"

The gruff irritation, the sleep-restored energy, and the color all drained immediately from Gaius' face. "What do you know of that day?" he gasped.

Suddenly not sure whether the older man would stay upright on his own, Merlin led him to a bench nearby. "I think it's connected to the presence I'd mentioned earlier… A baby boy, born and dying about the same time as Arthur… 'bound' to him in some way…"

Gaius seemed shocked and lost in memory as Merlin shared his hypothesis. His shoulders sank and he trembled, as he whispered, "There was a couple in the town—good people, expecting their first child at the same time as the king and queen. Such joy in both families… Unlike the queen's, though, theirs had been an easy pregnancy. But when that wonderful, awful night came, they sent word to me that there were problems for them as well, asking for help; but I couldn't leave the queen. By the time all was done here, and despite not having slept for days, I went to them; but it was too late. The little boy had cried out and gone more quickly than he'd come."

His cheeks streaked with a guilt and regret still fresh after nearly two decades. "If I'd only been able to be there, perhaps…"

Merlin took the shaking hands in his, instantly sorry that he'd pushed so strongly for what he thought would be a simple, factual yes or no. He hadn't expected the probable pain to involve, much less implicate, his friend and teacher. "There was nothing you could have done, Gaius, no way-" he tried to console.

"No 'nothing'," the healer barked, a fire returning to his face and voice. But it wasn't directed at the young man beside him; rather, at the younger man inside him. "No, I couldn't help them both; I _had_ to choose… So, I chose the royal family over them, valued Arthur over that poor boy. And still the queen died. And still I haven't been able to look his parents in the eye. And still his cries—murmurs of him—have haunted me."

So Gaius had heard the mirror prince if not immediately, then in the days and years since. He had connected the invisible sounds to the baby lost the night of Arthur's birth; but he hadn't understood them to be more than echoes in his own guilty conscience. Not that such remorse wasn't real or heavy enough.

Merlin wondered whether he could shed a little light on the real, if intangible source of the lingering memento of an impossible decision. "I think that's the presence I've sensed in Arthur's room –only he's now a man about Arthur's age, caught here by the king's powerful desire for a child."

Gaius' sorrow turned to terror, as he realized, "He would have every reason to be vengefully angry, Merlin. Such wronged spirits…"

"Actually I haven't sensed that from him at all. I don't think he understands what's happened to him; but he is concerned for Arthur."

As if on cue, the both heard a low, slow, soothing song drift out from the bedroom where only the unconscious Arthur and his cousin-become-sister were. Clearly sad, not angry, the tune pointed out how very real and near this additional concern was.

"Still," a doubly nervous Gaius lamented, taking no great relief in knowing this additional, enduring consequence for his dilemma'd decision that night years ago. "He can't know peace unless he understands, and can resolve the wrong against him." He looked to Merlin with a newfound distress, "But how can I make it right with him when Arthur again requires my focus? Short of my words, what can I do that won't simply repeat the slight that cursed him in the first place?"

Now concerned for his father figure, beyond the strange man in the mirror, and beyond his friend and master, Merlin knew he needed to do something to help them all. But how to bring peace to Fleck, absolution to Gaius, and health to Arthur? Never mind, some much needed sleep for himself…

What to do? They were doing everything they could for Arthur. Gaius couldn't undo his decisions of years before. And Fleck hadn't actually asked for help. Perhaps if Arthur died, Fleck would be free? No, that wasn't an acceptable option; and for all his vagaries, the Dragon had always been quite clear Merlin was to keep him alive. In fact, the only thing new that Camelot's largest resident had added to that certainty was that Fleck's fate was bound to Arthur's, and that both were worthy of any parents' pride.

And Uther's feelings about this situation needn't be asked—magic was evil; saving his son was required; and anyone practicing the first or failing at the second would suffer. Who knew what Fleck's parents would feel… _Fleck's parents!_

"Gaius? Merlin?" asked Gwen, as she turned the corner up the corridor. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes," answered Merlin, quickly rising to his feet. "What are you doing here?"

Indicating the tray she carried, she answered his unexpected challenge, "Morgana's meal is ready; I've brought it to her so she can remain with Arthur… Are you sure everything is alright?" She clearly saw the remnants of Gaius' anguish, but didn't want to add any embarrassment by pointing it out too directly.

"Ah yes," Gaius tried to smile reassuringly, gathering his things and standing.

Merlin took Gaius' arm and helped him up, casually asking, "Gaius, the… couple we were discussing earlier, from when Arthur was born. Are they still around? What do they do?"

Both his friends gave Merlin an odd look, at his seemingly random question.

"What? Well, let's see. The mother died some years ago. But the father, Til, is still in the town, an able stoneworker."(1)

"That's just wonderful," grinned Merlin as he led them all into Arthur's room. "So good to hear. Ah, Lady Morgana," he nodded, as he worked to set them all in place. "Gwen has brought you lunch. And Gaius will have a look see at how Arthur's doing. And I, I am going to…" He looked around the room frantically, as if trying to come up with something to occupy himself, while the three others just gawked at his usual, unusual behavior.

"Merlin, what is going on?" asked a voice that caused only Gaius to react. "What's happened?"

"Nothing. I'm doing nothing," Merlin narrated as he continued to glance about. _The window!_ "Except opening up a window to get us all a little fresh air." He stepped up to the well-maintained hinge, and began fiddling with the latch. "Oh, look at that; it's stuck." Confident the others couldn't see, whatever they might be thinking of his focused obsession, he whispered quietly, "Tócín stán."(2)

With a satisfying 'snap,' a chunk of the window masonry broke off in his hand; and he stifled a smile as he turned to show the unfortunate damage. "Oops! Clumsy me. Guess I don't know my strength."

Several voices asked simultaneously, "Merlin, what are you doing?" "Why did you just do that?" "Have you gone mad?"

Only Gaius looked around with more nervousness than confusion.

"It'll be dark soon, and getting cooler," Merlin narrated, as he fumbled with the loose rock in his hand as he bounded for the door. "Can't have Arthur catching a chill as well. So, I'll just run down to the town, and fetch a mason to patch this up quickly. Won't be more than a few minutes."

"Merlin?!" shouted four voices as he disappeared into the hallway.

Three people exchanged puzzled glances, as waning sunlight played off the large mirror on the wall, and other shiny surfaces around the room.

"Sometimes, I really worry about that boy," confided the puzzled Morgana, as they all continued to stare after the quick-departed page.

"Really? I usually worry more about us…" Gaius shared honestly, knowing it wouldn't exactly reassure them. Even more honestly, he glanced about, hoping the room's other occupant hadn't been at play in the young wizard's sudden exit, and /or didn't plan to use his absence to their misfortune.

"My lady, if I may suggest you take your meal at the table. I'll ask Gwen to assist to me in seeing to Arthur's bandages…" Best to remain in numbers, until—and if Merlin returned as promised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. The name is Old English for "good man" (good, apt, suitable, useful, profitable, excellent, brave, abounding).  
> 2\. The command "splinter stone." _Tócínan_ : to break into chinks, split open, cleave asunder, splinter, crack.


	5. Chapter 5

"It's just here," the overly happy promise floated in, as the door to Arthur's room finally opened without a knock.

"It's about time, Merlin," Gaius chided almost immediately, as he and Gwen turned toward the returner. "You've just missed the king, who is not especially happy that you're breaking things when you should be looking after his son…"

"I think you remember Gaius," Merlin gestured coolly between his critic, and the stranger to everyone else in the room. "And this is Gwen."

The not-as-old, but much more weathered-looking, man removed his cap, and nodded graciously, "Mister Gaius, it's been a long while. Good to see you well."

"Who is this?" the physician and manservant heard asked from throughout the room.

"Merlin?" Gwen asked independently, eyebrows suggesting introductions might be appropriate given the intrusion on the injured prince's private quarters.

"This is Til," Gaius explained for all, and confirmed for himself, "One of Camelot's best stone masons. You've seen his beautiful handiwork throughout the castle and town." His own eyebrow raised toward his scheming ward, he continued, "Who now seems to have graciously returned on a moment's notice, to clean up behind our too eager young friend."

"It's my pleasure to care for this beautiful building," the craftsman smiled. Gesturing to the handled box he carried, he suggested, "I can begin at once; and I'll be sure to keep the noise down." He nodded toward the heir's bed, a look of sadness passing over him, as he looked to Merlin for where specifically his skill was needed.

Merlin led him to the open window, and pointed out the dislodged piece of frame. As the artisan inspected the damage, Merlin waved Gaius over, and asked a favor of Gwen, "Gaius, would you mind bringing over that candle? And Gwen, while I help fix my mistake, could you make a brazier for Arthur? It is really beginning to get colder out."

Casting an indignant look at one another, over the apparent new supervisor, both his friends nonetheless did as asked, as the tasks were reasonable enough, whoever their assigner.

Showing he could do his part for the effort, Merlin promptly lit the delivered source of light, and held it so the house call could go more quickly. Avoiding Gaius' glare, he also didn't let the physician slip away. He asked quietly, around their listening stonemason, "How is Arthur doing?"

Gaius sighed, and admitted, "He's no better; but no worse. While you were gone, we changed his bandages, applied my strongest salve, and fed him a little more broth."

"You'll save him, Mister Gaius; you're a top notch healer, you are," smiled the visitor confidently, as he checked how well the loose piece fit its former home.

Looking incredibly uncomfortable with the compliment, especially given his history with its giver, he demurred, "That's kind of you to say, Til; but…"

"But what?" challenged Merlin, with a largely feigned innocence.

"But, we all know my skills are not always enough. Not nearly enough..." The agony of regret settled over Gaius again, as he struggled not to look at the old father or young meddler.

"Merlin," injected Til mildly, "Could you get me some warm water? We're lucky this break was relatively clean; a little pin and mortar, and this ornamental ridge should fit right back into place."

"Of course. Lucky us!" Merlin handed Gaius the candle, and headed to the fireplace.

Til pulled a pouch of powder from his box, and poured a good amount into a deep bowl he'd also brought with him. He then used a sharp blade to begin etching a few grooves into the two stone surfaces to be reunited. Skilled and swift, he was also able to converse as he worked, and so reminded the physician, "You undersell yourself, Mister Gaius. Many of us in Camelot wouldn't still be here, if it weren't for your years of care. Myself. The prince…"

Ever more uncomfortable, Gaius fidgeted visibly, and wiped his brow despite the cool breeze entering past them. "Til, we both know that I am more than limited, and have had a number of failures in my record..." _And on my conscience._

Holding a pot and ladle up for the mason to take what he needed for his mortar mix, Merlin continued to play his upbeat fool role. "We all have confidence in you, Gaius; we know you'll have Arthur back on his pretty feet in no time!"

Til nodded thanks to the boy, as he stirred the gritty paste. "He's not being modest, Merlin; he's still beating himself up over an impossible night many years ago." He turned to the surprised physician with a look of irritation, "You still haven't forgiven yourself have you?"

"Merlin?" a formless voice asked urgently again, naming the accusation on both Gwen and Gaius' faces. "What is going on? What have you brought this man here? And what is this old grievance? If you distract Gaius from Arthur's care in the least…"

"Of course I haven't," Gaius insisted, resignation and resentment mixing in his tone. "How could I? You and Twyla needed me; and I remained here until it was too late."

"Where you were obliged to be by king and duty," Til noted flatly as he spread the sticky concoction over the broken wall. "Where you saved the newborn prince, on whom we all hang our hopes for a future of peace and justice."

Gwen's mouth dropped open at this story she'd never heard. And in his peripheral vision, Merlin caught frantic movement in every shiny surface in the room. "What… is… this…?" a hoarse whisper demanded.

Gaius too seemed surprised by the relative nonchalance of Til's recounting. "But, my loyalty here cost you— cost you your son… How can you not be angry still?"

Having fitted a few metal shards into the gooey grooves in the window frame, Til turned to face Gaius as he repeated the treatment on the stone fragment. Despite the clear pain of the faraway moments they discussed, the craftsman remained calm and gracious as he confessed, "Of course we wished things had been different, that you had come from the castle sooner. And we were angry for a long while, first at you, then at the King for keeping you, and then at the world more largely for the injustice of it all."

He thumbed a fallen tear into the paste as his hands continued their steady work. "But we—my wife and I—we both came to understand that you were the court physician; and the king was just a father trying to protect his wife and child. Our anger changed nothing, and didn't honor the memory of our son, our little prince."

Not breaking from his story, or the long peace it told, he turned and gently aligned the broken stone edges, and slipped the fragment back into the whole. "And though we didn't have another child of our own, and despite a few failed attempts to reassure you through the years, we-," Til looked around the room, as if worried or embarrassed over to whom he was baring this secret. "We celebrated Prince Arthur, and his shared birthday, and his accomplishments. We chose to find joy in the son we might have had, and the one will never forget."

He wiped the seeping mortar from around the repair, and closed the window while holding the reinstalled piece in place. Gently wedging a wood brace to immobilize it while the repair dried and set, he continued as he wiped his hands clean. "So, it's all the more important, Mister Gaius, that you take care of this prince. My Twyla died a few years back, still sharing my hope that Arthur will become a man and a king worthy of our son's sacrifice."

There was no sound or movement in the room, save the absolute entreaty in the old father's eyes.

"You still love your son," Merlin understood aloud, glancing over his shoulder to the ornate mirror on the wall.

"And always will," Til affirmed, dabbing his own face as he wrapped up his task and tale.

"Til, I—I don't know what to say to—" Gaius choked. His angst at the father's arrival had left him completely, taking years of guilt and shame with it.

The forgiver simply offered his hand, and suggested quietly, "Just save the boy."

Hearing a quiet sob from several corners of the room, Gaius nodded a few tears from his own eyes, accepting the mercy and mission from this family who had every reason to deny him both.

Til placed his tools back into his kit, and wiped down the sill. "Leave the window closed, and the brace in place for a few days, a week if you can."

Merlin nodded, as Gaius realized there was one final debt to settle. "Gwen, would you please take Til to the kitchens for a well-earned meal, with the royal household's gratitude. And rest assured, Merlin will visit soon to settle up a proper payment for tonight's visit, from his own clumsy wages."

Gwen's sad face turned to a grin at that justice; but Merlin just gaped at the quick forgetting of his orchestrating this relationship renewal.

As Til nodded his goodbye to all, and began to follow the maid out, Merlin remembered a remaining, and in fact central, point still not resolved. "Sir," he called after the father, "One last thing, if you please. So that we can honor him as well, did you and your wife… have a name for your son?"

Pausing at the door, Til smiled with an obvious and fresh pride. "His name is Auden."(1)

At that moment, the hanging mirror nearby shattered out into the room, with a loud, gasping gust of wind that rattled every loose flap and bauble, and flickered every flame in the space.

As the four standing occupants uncovered their faces and took stock of what had just happened, it was Gwen who noticed and called out first, "Arthur!"

For sitting upright in his bed, shocked awake by the sudden sound and fury, the previously unresponsive prince was now breathing deeply and looking about, confused.

* * *

Much later that night, once the shattered glass had been cleaned up, and the royal family reunited, and the patient showing remarkable improvement, Merlin and Gaius finally shared a quick bite to eat before they turned in for a much needed, and well-earned rest.

"Are you sure he's gone, Merlin?" Gaius asked between small bites.

Sleepy eyes fluttering more fully open, Merlin assured, "As I cleaned up, I looked in every shard and reflection in the room; nothing. So unless you heard some sound or voice I didn't…"

Gaius nodded, agreeing that there seemed to be no more evidence of the mirror prince, once the mirror had broken and their own prince awoken. "That was a risky gamble you took, bringing his father here on just the _hope_ that some random sharing might release the poor boy."

"It wasn't random," Merlin protested. "And his wasn't the only bind I was hoping to release."

Knowing he'd soon sleep without a guilt he'd carried for Arthur's, and Auden's, entire lifetime, Gaius could only smile and offer a heartfelt "Thank you" to his young friend and, it would seem, redeemer.

"In one way, though, I wish he hadn't gone," Merlin confessed.

"What?!" Gaius seemed shocked that the apprentice would consider undoing what he'd worked so hard to make possible. "Whatever for?"

A twinkle accompanied the sly grin that spread over Merlin's face, as he only half-jokingly admitted the precious resource he'd lost. "He'd witnessed Arthur's _entire_ life… He knew _all_ of Arthur's secrets and mistakes!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. The Old English word for "witness" is _æwda_ , in the accusative case _æwdan_.
> 
> All Old English taken from or based on translations via oldenglishtranslator.co.uk . Not sure if that is the language they actually based the series' spells on; but it fits well.


End file.
